


Opposite Day

by deadburritochortles



Category: Broken Reality - Extended Universe
Genre: AU of an AU of an AU, Death, Gen, Murder, Roleswap, UA does not hold back
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27113075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadburritochortles/pseuds/deadburritochortles
Summary: In another world, the town is called Truth and Consequences, and their biggest problem was a group of pranksters.In another world, there was a thing called mercy.
Relationships: Durple | Ringleader & Fool | Wise Fool, Durple | Ringleader & Terry | The Jester, Sofi (BR) & Cryptic | Catalyst
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5
Collections: Broken Reality Server





	Opposite Day

Distortion and Aftermath lives in fear.

There is a war raging in the warm heat of the sun. Battles are waged between work shifts, and the scent of iron is prominent in even the most mundane of places.

The back of the car wash—particularly at night, when the blood is still stained on the walls and the only ones approaching are people itching for a fight—is one of these places.

“ _So!_ ” She says— _she_ refers to Sofi, a reporter for the DAA Local News, “What was it that you wanted me to cover up!”

There’s a faint murmur, muffled by the soles of Sofi’s shoes.

“What was that?” She smiles sweetly. “I! can’t! Hear you!” She draws the words out, and she would sound like a sports announcer or something equally peppy if she wasn’t forcing someone to lick her boots.

“I,” her current victim—someone insignificant and meaningless; she already knows she’s not going to help them, “I need you to make sure they don’t talk about my current…situation.” Their _situation_ refers to the multitude of kidnapping cases they’re involved in. “I’ll be ruined if it,” they look up, one of their eyes locking with Sofi’s, “if it goes-”

They don’t get to finish their sentence.

There’s a loud _squelch_ , and Sofi’s scuffing off her boots.

She hates when people look her in the eyes.

She can _tell_ what they’re feeling, can feel the desperation and worry and fear, and it’s _disgusting_ —she wants nothing to do with anyone’s well-being other than her own. If they need a savior, they’ll find someone else, or they’ll bring her something worth thinking about.

Sofi’s walking towards the Denny’s now, blood still on her soles, when she’s dragged into an alley.

“ _Night_ , what do _you_ want-”

There’s a knife to her throat.

She almost _laughs_. “Pushy, are we?”

The masked figure presses the knife harder.

“Fuck, fine, what do you want?” She wouldn’t mind death, not really, but it’d be…inconvenient. Not to mention dying by the hands of some unsavory figure isn’t really in her best interest.

She’ll die by her own terms, just as she does everything else.

A gravelly voice, no doubt the work of a voice modulator, answers her. “Make sure to show what happened at the Laundromat—you know the one. An example is what we’re going for here.”

Sofi nods, and they let go.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She puts on her most brilliant smile—it used to be sweet and innocent, _passive_ , but now it’s all her own, and no one else's. If someone doesn’t like the manic look in her eyes, than they can fuck themself sideways for all she cares.

The figure slaps a crisp stack of twenties in her hand—no doubt from some fellow in a suit that was having a bad day—then stalks off.

Sofi continues on her way.

* * *

Cryptic sighs as she walks out of the alley way.

To be honest, the incident at the Laundromat isn’t all that interesting, and neither is the League itself. They’re definitely not the most powerful of their opponents, but they are certainly the most persistent.

It’s _annoying_.

They’re hardly on the Unidentified Attendants level—two of their members are probably in _middle school_ —but they keep coming back.

They were _masochistic_ , and UA was probably sadistic for giving the League a sliver of hope that they stood a chance of stopping them from staining this town in red. It wasn’t like they didn’t try to stop the group of foolhardy heroes though.

For example: asking Sofi, the only person willing to do the dirty work of keeping the right things under wraps, to cover the incident.

The League _has_ to stop when they realize that they are nothing but a group of wannabees, and the Unidentified Attendants are genuine _murderers_ , right? They keep coming back like roaches, and maybe this’ll be good enough bug spray.

Maybe they had criminal records of their own? She’d have to ask Caretaker about that.

It has to wait until later though, because one of the aforementioned roaches is following her.

She pulls out her handgun—the one she never leaves home without, because the streets are dangerous, and she’d like to keep it that way—and shoots in their general direction. If it hits a civilian, that’s really not her problem.

The League member skitters away like a rat.

Cryptic chuckles— _how ironic_.

She doesn’t even bother slipping her gun back into its holster. People know not to approach her.

It never ends well for them.

Take the League, for example.

* * *

Durple doesn’t think she’s hated anyone more than the Unidentified Attendants.

Well, not currently at least.

Durple _knows_ loss, knows the feeling of everything slipping between her fingers, but she hadn’t felt it to this extent before.

One of her friends is dead, and their death was brushed off like it was _nothing_ , like it was a common occurrence, and deep down, Durple knows that it is. Ever since those _damn_ Attendants showed up and decided that the city would be better with a population of ‘any people that don’t piss them off,’ she knows that death should’ve been expected.

But she won’t disrespect a League member like that, because they weren’t supposed to die. For some reason, in her years of vigilante work, she didn’t expect to die, and that sentiment had extended to her teammates, her partners, her _friends_.

Morals be damned, she’ll avenge them.

As she walks back to their secondary location, the one that wasn’t stained with blood and the memory of her dead friend, she sets her sights on talking to Fool.

Though she never said anything about it, there was a distinct vibe of _I can kill you_ around Fool, and she’d probably be helpful in something like this.

Durple is struck with a sudden realization.

She has to tell everyone that her friend is dead.

Everyone else was at that secondary location, and she’d have to face them and tell them that their friend was dead.

She doesn’t think she can face that, not when she can’t face it yet herself.

She’s gripping her arms, sliding down the wall that she didn’t even know she was leaning against. She knows she shouldn’t be out at night, because with a quirk like hers she shouldn’t be around anyone without her emotions in check, and she doesn’t think she could bring herself to fight right now.

She was a _knight_ , and she fought to protect people, not for herself.

But she had failed, and now her friend was dead.

She tilts her head back, and lets her eyes droop.

At least, she tries, because right in front of her is Terry’s dead body.

* * *

Vo hadn’t really planned on this, really, but it would be a wasted opportunity, so he just goes with it.

The girl—he recognized her of course, she was part of that League thing, but her name has slipped from his mind—screams and screams, and when that gets boring, they decide to change it up.

Having your dead friend _talk_ to you is just so much worse, so of course he has to try it out.

He goes for something generic, “You could’ve saved me you know? You could’ve sacrificed yourself, you could’ve done something.”

The girl suddenly starts cackling. “Oh, now I _know_ that’s Trickster. You, well not you, but who you’re supposed to be, wouldn’t be mad that I didn’t save them, you’d probably be complaining that the afterlife is boring.” She clears her throat. “And why would Terry’s ghost even look like that? Why am I scared? This is stupid.”

There’s a manic grin on her face, and Vo sighs—the girl’s hardly a threat, and killing her would be simple, not to mention that’d it piss Catalyst off, but he’d rather not waste his time on someone so…boring.

He disappears into the night, and distantly hears the girl sigh in relief.

* * *

The real Terry is bored out of their mind.

They can't do anything but _watch_ , and life isn’t as fun when you can’t even pick up a damn _pebble_.

They should’ve read those occult books that Court always had, maybe then she could at least possess someone.

_Damn it,_ they think, before chuckling nervously, _It, not me._ As far as they were concerned, they were in purgatory or something like that, and as monotonous as it was, they didn’t really want to see a worse alternative.

Durple is still sleeping in an alleyway, and Terry wishes she could actually speak to her.

She wishes for a lot of things, but being saved isn’t one of them. Sure, death is like having spectator mode on, and it was probably the most disappointing thing in existence, but she didn’t need to be saved. Because really, between Durple and her, she was always going to be the one that didn’t make it out of that Laundromat though.

She just wishes it wasn’t as brutal.

Rage was prominent in Catalyst’s eyes when she’d walked into their laundromat, and even more so when she shot Terry in the legs, and then the hands, and then the torso, and then the head.

She hadn’t stopped there, but Terry wasn’t really able to witness it—she was already dead.

Now she was dead, poking a finger through her hand, and wondering when Catalyst would die so she could properly punch her in the face. It just wasn’t the same when you were incorporeal.

Lost in thought, the hours pass, and suddenly it’s morning, Durple’s at their second base, and she’s gearing herself up to tell everyone that she’s dead.

Terry watches in curiosity.

**Author's Note:**

> kjnkjnkjdfs i might continue this ngl, it's vv fun!


End file.
